Blow The Man Down: A Romance Of The Coast
Put him in the long boat and make him bail 'erv
Early in the morn--ing!
--Old “Stamp-and-go.”
Mayo saw the sail first. It was coming in from the sea, and was very far
and minute. He pointed it out with an exclamation.
“What do you make it, sir?” asked Captain Candage. “Your eyes are
younger 'n mine are.”
“I reckon it's a fisherman bound in from Cashes Banks. He seems to be
lying well over, and that shows there's a good breeze outside. He ought
to reach near enough to see us, judging from the way he's heading.”
That little sail, nicked against the sky, was something else to watch
and speculate on and wait for, and they forgot, almost, that they were
hungry and thirsty and sun-parched.
However, Captain Mayo kept his own gaze most steadfastly on the landward
horizon. He did not reveal any of his thoughts, for he did not want
to raise false hopes. Nevertheless, it was firmly in his mind that no
matter what might be the sentiments of Julius Marston in regard to his
recent skipper, the mate and engineer on board the _Olenia_ were loyal
friends who would use all their influence with the owner to urge him to
come seeking the man who had been lost.
The fact that a motor-boat had come popping out of Saturday Cove in
pursuit of the schooner suggested that Mate McGaw had suspected what had
happened, and was not dragging the cove-bottom for a drowned man.
Mayo had plenty of time for pondering on the matter, and he allowed hope
to spice his guesses. He knew Mate McGaw's characteristics and decided
that the yacht would get under way early, would nose into a few near-by
harbors where a gale-ridden schooner might have dodged for safety, and
then would chase down the sea, following the probable course of a craft
which had been caught in that nor'easter. Mate McGaw was a sailorly man
and understood how to fit one fact with another. He had a due portion of
mariner's imagination, and was not the sort to desert a chum, even if
he were obliged to use stiff speech to convert an owner. Therefore, Mayo
peered toward the blue shore-line, coddling hope. He wondered whether
Mate McGaw would have courage to slip a word of encouragement to Alma
Marston if she asked questions.
Mayo was elated rather than astonished when he spied a smear of drab
smoke and was able to determine that the craft which was puffing that
smoke was heading out to sea, not crawling alongshore.
“That's a fisherman all right, and he's bound to come clost enough to
make us out,” stated Captain Candage, his steady gaze to southward.
“But here comes another fellow who is going to beat him to us,”
announced Captain Mayo, gaily.
“And what do you make it?” asked the skipper, blinking at the distant
smoke.
“A yacht, probably.”
“Huh? A yacht! If that's what it is they'll most likely smash right
past. They'll think we're out here on a fishing picnic, most like.
That's about all these yacht fellers know.”
The girl gave her father a frown of protest, but Mayo smiled at her.
“I think this one is different, sir. If I am not very much mistaken,
that is the yacht _Olenia_ and she is hunting me up. Mate McGaw is one
of our best little guessers.”
A quarter of an hour later he was able to assure them that the on-coming
craft was the _Olenia_.
“Good old Mate McGaw!” he cried, rapturously. In his joy he wished he
could make them his confidants, tell them who was waiting for him on
board that yacht, make them understand what wonderful good fortune was
his.
After a time--the long time that even a fast yacht seems to consume in
covering distance to effect the rescue of those who are anxious--the
Olenita's whistle hooted hoarsely to assure them that they had been
seen.
“The same to you, Mate McGaw!” choked Captain Mayo, swinging his cap in
wide circles.
“Seeing that things have come round as they have, I'm mighty glad for
you, Captain Mayo,” declared Candage. “I ain't no kind of a hand to
plaster a man all over with thanks--”
“I don't want thanks, sir. We worked together to save our lives.”
“Then I'm hoping that there won't be any hard feelings one way or the
other. I have lost my schooner by my blasted foolishness. So I'll say
good-by and--”
“Good-by?” demanded Mayo, showing his astonishment. “Why are you saying
good-by to me now?”
“Because you are going aboard your yacht.”
“The rest of you are going there, too.”
“It ain't for poor critters like us to go mussing--”
“Look here, Captain Candage, I am the captain of that yacht, and I say
that you are coming on board and stay until I can set you ashore at the
handiest port.”
“I'd just as lieve wait for that fisherman, sir. I'll feel more at home
aboard him.”
“You ought to think of your daughter's condition first, Captain Candage.
She needs a few comforts right away, and you won't find them on board a
fisherman.”
He turned to the girt who sat on the keel, silent, looking away to sea.
She seemed to show a strange lack of interest in the yacht. Her pretty
face exhibited no emotion, but somehow she was a wistfully pathetic
figure as she sat there. Mayo's countenance showed much more concern
than she expressed when she faced about at the sound of his voice and
looked at him. Color came into his cheeks; there was embarrassment in
his eyes, a queer hesitancy in his tones.
“There is a young lady--there are several young ladies--but there is Mr.
Marston's daughter!” he faltered. “She is on the yacht. I--I know she
will do all she can for you. She will be good to you!” His eyes fell
under her frank and rather quizzical gaze.
“She might not care to be bothered with such a ragamuffin.”
“I can speak for her!” he cried, eagerly. He was now even more disturbed
by the glance she gave him. He had read that women have intuition in
affairs of the heart.
“I am quite certain you can, Captain Mayo,” she assured him, demurely.
“And I am grateful. But perhaps we'd be better off on board that other
vessel--father and the rest of us.”
“I insist,” he said, but he did not dare to meet her searching eyes. “I
insist!” he repeated, resuming the decisive manner which he had shown
before on board the _Polly_.
The _Olenia_, slowing down, had come close aboard, and her churning
screws pulled her to a standstill. Her crew sent a tender rattling down
from her port davits. As she rolled on the surge her brass rails caught
the sunlight in long flashes which fairly blinded the hollow eyes of
the castaways. The white canvas of bridge and awnings gleamed in snowy
purity. She was so near that Dolph smelled the savory scents from her
galley and began to “suffle” moisture in the corners of his mouth.
They who waited on the barnacled hulk of the Polly, faint with hunger,
bedraggled with brine, unkempt and wholly miserable after a night of
toils and vigil, felt like beggars at a palace gate as they surveyed her
immaculateness.
A sort of insolent opulence seemed to exude from her. Mayo, her captain
though he was, felt that suggestion of insolence more keenly than his
companions, for he had had bitter and recent experience with the moods
of Julius Marston.
He did not find Marston a comforting object for his gaze; the
transportation magnate was pacing the port alley with a stride that was
plainly impatient. Close beside the gangway stood Alma Marston, spotless
in white duck. Each time her father turned his back on her she put out
her clasped hands toward her lover with a furtive gesture.
Polly Candage watched this demonstration with frank interest, and
occasionally stole side-glances at the face of the man who stood beside
her on the schooner's bottom; he was wholly absorbed in his scrutiny of
the other girl.
Mate McGaw himself was at the tiller of the tender. His honest face was
working with emotion, and he began to talk before the oarsmen had eased
the boat against the overturned hulk.
“I haven't closed my eyes, Captain Mayo. Stayed up all night, trying
to figure it out. Almost gave up all notion that you were aboard the
schooner. You didn't hail the boat we sent out.”
“I tried to do it; perhaps you couldn't hear me.”
Captain Candage's countenance showed gratitude and relief.
“This morning I tried Lumbo and two other shelters, and then chased
along the trail of the blow.”
Mayo trod carefully down the bilge and clasped the mate's hand. “I was
looking for you, Mr. McGaw. I know what kind of a chap you are.”
McGaw, still holding to the captain's hand, spoke in lower tones. “Had
a devil of a time with the owner, sir. He was bound to have it that you
had deserted.”
“I was afraid he would think something of the sort.”
The mate showed frank astonishment. “You was afraid of _what?_ Why,
sir, I wanted to tell him that he was a crazy man to have any such ideas
about you! Yes, sir, I came nigh telling him that! I would have done it
if I hadn't wanted to keep mild and meek whilst I was arguing with him
and trying to make him give me leave to search!”
“We have had a terrible time of it, Mr. McGaw,” stated Mayo, avoiding
the mate's inquisitiveness. “I am going to take these folks on board and
set them ashore.”
“Ay, sir, of course.”
The two of them stood with clasped hands and held the tender close to
the wreck until the passengers embarked. When they reached the foot of
the _Olenia_'s steps Captain Mayo sent his guests ahead of him.
Marston paused in his march and scowled, and the folks on the
quarter-deck crowded to the rail, showing great interest.
Captain Mayo exchanged a long look with Alma Marston when he came up
the steps. Love, pity, and greeting were in his eyes. Her countenance
revealed her vivid emotions; she was overwrought, unstrung, half-crazed
after a night spent with her fears. When he came within her reach
caution was torn from her as gossamer is flicked away by a gale. Impulse
had always governed her; she gave way to it then.
“I don't care,” she sobbed. “I love you. They may as well know it!”
Before he understood her intentions or could prevent her rashness she
flung her arms about his neck and kissed him repeatedly.
Marston stood in his tracks like a man stricken by paralysis; his cigar
dropped from his open mouth. This exhibition under his very nose, with
his guests and the whole crew of his yacht looking on, fairly stunned
him.
“If you had died I would have died!” she wailed.
Then her father plunged toward her, elbowing the astonished Beveridge
out of his way.
Captain Mayo gently unhooked the arms of the frantic girl from about his
neck and stepped forward, putting himself between father and daughter.
He was not taking sensible thought in the matter; he was prompted by an
instinctive impulse to protect her.
Mayo had no word ready at his tongue's end, and Mar-ston's anathema was
muffled and incoherent. The girl's rash act had tipped over the sane and
manly self-possession of both of them. The captain was too bewildered
to comprehend the full enormity of his action in standing guard over the
daughter of Julius Marston, as if she needed protection on her father's
quarter-deck. He did not move to one side of the alley when Marston
jerked an impatient gesture.
“I want to say that I am wholly to blame, sir,” he faltered. “I hope you
will overlook--”
“Are you presuming to discuss my daughter's insanity with me?” He
noticed that the sailors were preparing to hoist the tender to the
davits. “Drop that boat back into the water!” he shouted. There was an
ugly rasp in his voice, and for a moment it seemed as if he were about
to lose control of himself. Then he set a check on his temper and
tongue, though his face was deathly white and his eyes were as hard as
marbles. Resolve to end further exhibition in this incredible business
dominated his wrathful shame.
“If you will set us ashore--” pleaded Mayo.